Allies
by Nimbus 1944
Summary: The war is about to come through the doors of the Great Hall. How would you prefer your chicken?


****

Allies

The war is about to come through  
the doors of the Great Hall. How  
would you prefer your chicken?

Original story material is the property of the fanfic author; other material of Rowling et al. falls under the usual disclaimer. 

Prince, thou shalt go disguised to Arthur's hall,  
And hire thyself to serve for meats and drinks  
Among the scullions and the kitchen-knaves.  
-Tennyson, _Idylls of the King_

Harry dashed onto the high bridge toward the Great Hall, fleeing for his life.

Unfortunately, he would be a perfect target going across. The stones of the low parapet were exploding around him, in blasts of green light from the field below. He ducked. Soon the pursuing Dementors would be behind him, and then he would be trapped -- unable to stand or sit, but only to die. He needed to get off the bridge, _now_!

__

"Accio Firebolt!" he shouted, hoping no sniper would spot his broom in flight.

Precious seconds were being lost; he moved forward in a slow crouch, the blasted rocks still falling on him. Finally, the broom arrived, and he wasted no time jumping on. Before he saved his own neck, though, he was going to secure the bridge from ground fire. He leapt up and over the parapet and toward the sniper's position.

The sniper was very good, calling off curse after curse, hurling repeated bolts toward Harry. However bright they are, plasma bolts do not travel at the speed of light, and at this range he was able to evade them with the practised efficiency of a Quidditch player. He hurled two convincing blasts at the base of a centuries-old stone wall just behind the sniper, and it toppled over -- effectively ending the problem.

He considered dropping the high bridge in the same fashion, but for what? That would be overdramatic, and only a minor delay. The attackers had already taken the boathouse below the Great Hall, and the Dementors were almost on the bridge now, so his only option was to seek shelter behind friendly lines -- fast!

Harry flew through the wreckage of the front doorway and up the huge staircase. He considered plowing through the hall doors on the broom, but didn't want to take friendly fire. He landed on the upstairs corridor and pushed a door open, standing aside. Sure enough, a huge bolt of green light came out, splattering on the staircase wall.

"Hold your fire!" he shouted. "It's Harry Potter! I'm coming in!"

There was a pause, then came Professor Wentworth's voice. "Hurry it, Potter, and close the door!"

Once he had landed, he assessed the situation, and it wasn't good. The tables and walls showed the effects of repeated attacks. Only Wentworth and a few students stood the line of upturned tables across the room, and some were underclassmen with little training. _I hope no one's superstitious_, he thought; counting them up, he was defender number 13. 

If the enemy was clever, they could attack through the huge windows -- and it would all be over in a minute. As for himself, Harry's back ached from the stones falling on him, and his left wrist felt fractured. He could barely raise his arms any more, but pulled himself toward the line of tables, took out his wand, and faced the doors, expecting the battle at any moment. "This is not going well," he said.

A voice piped up behind them. "Harry Potter should not worry so. It is quite unnecessary."

"Who...?" Harry turned. "DOBBY?"

"Tsk, such a mess in here. But Dobby is pleased with the progress, and Harry Potter and his friends can relax now."

Harry's eyes went back to the doors. "Dobby, we're at war. This is definitely NOT the time for a chat with a house-elf!"

"Oh, but the battle is nearly over. What would Harry Potter and his friends like for dinner?"

"I'd like about 400 _more_ friends to arrive for dinner, and soon -- preferably ready to fight Voldemort before worrying about their next meal!"

Dobby smiled. "Forgive Dobby, sir, but Harry Potter is always so tense. Harry Potter should learn to relax when the time allows -- and to take Dobby's advice more often."

"Here's _my_ advice, Dobby... barricade all the house-elves in the kitchen, and pray."

"The house-elves will be together there soon enough. But at the moment they are all over the school grounds."

"That doesn't sound too smart in the middle of a battle."

"Oh, but the battle is now restricted to the top of the South Tower. The evil ones cannot use apparation at Hogwarts, and must move by the stairs. But the stairs have stopped halfway through a turn, and they cannot escape. There is wonderful sliced beef."

"What????"

"For the dinner! Also much chicken, which is always a favourite. And fresh fruit...."

Harry was exasperated. "Dobby, I've taken your advice before, and frankly, it nearly got me killed every time."

"Oh, Harry Potter has _never_ been killed. Harry Potter has injured himself seriously by _not_ taking Dobby's advice."

"Yeah. Like your rogue bludger. First you break my arm, then nearly smash my head and my... hip."

"Harry Potter must listen to the elder minds more often."

"What elder minds?"

"House-elves have few needs other than to serve humankind. House-elves serve in lowly positions, and true, they suffer much from ill-treatment and ignorance. House-elves have a unique grammar, that perhaps sounds strange to human ears. But, that does not mean that house-elves are not able and intelligent -- much as wise grandparents caring for little children. Baked or fried?"

"What??"

"The chicken. Dobby recommends baked."

"Dobby, what is all this chatter about?"

"A feast. To celebrate the victory of Harry Potter and his friends over the one who must not be named. You must gather your strength for battles to come another day."

"DOBBY! THEY MAY COME CHARGING THROUGH THOSE DOORS TO KILL US AT ANY MINUTE!" 

"Harry Potter fears the unseen, but will not heed the obvious. Even in the South Tower now, the evil ones are routed. The few remaining ones are scattering through the brush -- thinking they are escaping, but in truth, inevitably driven toward the forbidden forest, where there will be much weeping and the knashing of teeth."

"Driven by who?"

"House-elves, of course. The house-elves have ways of getting around invisibly, as Harry Potter has seen. House-elves call it sprinting, though it has a more formal name. Attack-and-sprint is a very effective way of fighting an enemy without retaliation -- and driving them into retreat. Apples, or pears, or both?"

"Uh...both," said Harry, his eyes darting about as Dobby's words started to sink in. He was almost ready to concede to the pretty mind-picture that Dobby was painting. "Are you telling me Hogwarts is saved?"

"Yes. And Hogsmeade is also secure. Apricot nectar, or butterbeer?"

"Butterbeer.. But how..."

"The infirmary is intact, and Madam Pomfrey should be able to see Harry Potter right off, for she will have little to do tonight. Harry Potter and his friends have been very effective."

"You're strange, Dobby. One minute you say houses-elves saved the day, then you say it was 'Harry Potter and his friends' who did it."

"Surely the house elves are among Harry Potter's friends!"

Harry was in amazement. "This means even Dumbledore underestimated you! They go off seeking the help of the giants, who have brute force but no magic powers, when all the time our greatest magical allies were..."

"Cooking and cleaning for you." The elf smiled broadly. "Now Dobby must take down the barricades; the tables are needed, and the benches must be repaired before dinner. Tsk... so many curse burns on the tables! How did Harry Potter want his chicken, then?" 

__

*

For Nigella's daughter,  
who loves to hear a Dobby story  
at bedtime.

*


End file.
